20 Enemies

[Ina_meishou]

1. In a way, Blight is even more TerryÆs first than Dana ever could be. Of all the enemies he ever fought, Blight was singularly his creation, his problem. Every time he looks at that sickly green, he remembers that if he hadnÆt been so damned stupid, the world would have one less monster.

ItÆs what fuels his constant, quiet war with Bruce and Barbara.


2. Coe is among the arguments Bruce likes to trot out whenever they start to fight over morality. Ever since the Jokerz left him laying on that rooftop, he hasnÆt once worn the makeup. The first time he shows up in TerryÆs classroom, itÆs a shock. When he turns out to be a decent student, and a pretty good guy, it gets worse.


3. Terry canÆt think of J-Man as anything but pathetic. HeÆs heard the horror stories from Bruce and Barbara. HeÆs watched some of the records stored on the Batcom. He knows the Joker, probably better than most anyone alive.

J-Man is not Joker, heÆs not even close.


4. Out of all the Jokerz Terry knows of, the Dee DeeÆs are the only ones he can think of who really are just in it for the laughs.

TheyÆre also the only ones to date to manage capturing him.

While they didnÆt get the suit open, and refused to untie him until morning, they still managed to show him a truly excellent time.

Bruce still wonÆt let him forget it, and even though Terry now has to clean the batsuit himself, heÆs not sure he wants to.


5. Stalker isnÆt a criminal in the sense Terry is used to dealing with. HeÆs not in it for the money, or for the fun, or just because.

Stalker does what he does to see if he can. ItÆs a test of will that Terry can respect, even as he exerts his own to surviving.


6. Inque is among TerryÆs greatest shames. HeÆs thought long and hard, run countless simulations on the batcom, and spent hours reworking every aspect of their fights in his head.

HeÆs still not sure what will take her down for good.


7. Terry rarely hated himself as much as when he saw what juvie had done to Willie Watt. The nice kid he remembers isnÆt much different from the big, friendly young man that came out.

But when he finally tracks down Mech, he seeÆs whatÆs really behind that easy smile.


8. Shriek is TerryÆs nightmare. Sound is a part of his life like breathing is, and the thought of losing his hearing is terrifying beyond almost anything heÆs felt.

He canÆt bring himself to resent the sound techÆs hatred.


9. Ten, and Terry canÆt really think of her as Melanie anymore, tearÆs Terry in two every time he sees her working at he cafÚ down the street. He isnÆt sure what she is to him, but he canÆt bring himself to stop talking to her.


10. Spellbinder is on the very short list of people that Terry has sworn to kill as soon as he gets the chance to do it quietly.


11. Terry isnÆt sure why Curare decided to retire from the assassinÆs life. He just wishes sheÆd left a less dangerous parting gift.

He doesnÆt even know how to use a regular scimitar, much less the monstrosity she tried to kill him with.


12. Cuvier has the distinction of being the criminal Terry most agrees with. In TerryÆs view, thereÆs nothing wrong with splicing itself, people are just afraid of it.

ItÆs another thing he fights with his mentors over.


13. Earthmover sickens Terry. HeÆs doesnÆt have a daughter, but he tries to think of it like he would Tamara. HeÆs not sure how anyone could want to trap someone they care about underneath a radioactive waste dump.

He hopes he never learns how.


14. Though Bruce refuses to admit to it, Terry thinks that Victor Fries is the only man he knows who shares BruceÆs sense of loss. Both of them killed everything they were in a quest for vengeance.

He still canÆt get Bruce to agree to meet he man.


15. The worst thing about TerryÆs short conflict with RaÆs Al Guhl is that he was actually attracted to the body the man inhabited.

No, perhaps the worst part is really that even now, knowing what lurked behind TaliaÆs face, he still canÆt stop thinking she was hot.


16. Dr. Wheeler is TerryÆs first cold blooded kill. He refuses to regret it.


17. In Armory, Terry has found a strange sort of kinship. Both of them are simply men, in a world filled with genetic mutations and monstrous accidents, they are normal humans who dare to flourish.


18. Mad Stan is a mystery. Terry has yet to find any trace of where he gets his weapons, or his money. Bruce hasnÆt had any more luck. All Terry knows is that someone has to be funding him, and someone twisted him into the mass of rage and unfocused hate he is today.

He just canÆt figure out who.


19. Terry isnÆt sure what he expected to find on the Kobra Airship. All he knows is that it certainly wasnÆt Zander. He knew Zander, better than he knew anyone else from KairiÆs class. He liked Zander, he was probably one of the best male friends he had.

It was an unpleasant reminder.


20. Years before Terry met Bruce, he ran with Big Time and the Boyz. They werenÆt ever anything big like the Jokerz or the Ts, but they were family, of a sort. Every time he catches his old friendÆs on the job, his heart hardens just a little more.

 

[nuclear death frog]

Courtesy post. Told you my thoughts already.

 

[knight_of_ni]

Heh, it's nice; it's a pity I don't remember any of the villains save for a few, but still, even not knowing some of the characters, I can understand the gist of where you were going with it.

That being said, there are a few typos that need to be corrected; however, they are generally obvious and not that bad of typos.

Well, good luck on whatever you decide to do next. ^_^

 

[Ina_meishou]

In my dreams, I always do it right.

The landing pad beneath me is crowded, this whole section of air docks is privately owned, thereÆs no reason to be discreet. Maybe a hundred workers bustle about, checking canisters, scanning systems, running lifting machinery. I wonder if any of them care what it is theyÆre transporting, the kind of slaughter it can bring.

It makes me angry, mindless drones, just doing as theyÆre told and damn the consequences, take home their checks and live happy whileà

I shake it off; I have to stop this shipment, preferably in some way that keeps the gas from getting into the city.

Disable the Hovercraftà

No, that wonÆt work. Wayne-Powers probably owns hundreds of the things; they could just move the gas to another. Though really, now that I think about it, even if I destroy the gas, they can just make more.

A problem for later, and preferably one for the old man to think about. ThereÆs movement to my left, at the level of the pad. ItÆs Powers and his goon. TheyÆre saying something, but I canÆt hear.

ôUse the finger microphones, they work over distance too.ö The old man says. I nod, though it makes me feel like an idiot when I remember he canÆt see me.

ôRight, Old Manö I mutter, careful to keep quiet, the guards are still looking for me, and the suit doesnÆt keep my voice from carrying. He grunts back, but IÆm already holding up my fingers, and the suits synaptic controls are turning them on.

ôàthe bat?ö ItÆs Powers voice, smooth even here where he doesnÆt have anyone to play to. I hate that voice; it makes me feel dirty just to hear it. It embodies everything I hate about this city.

ôThey chased him to one of the warehouses sir, but he disappeared. No more leads.ö Mr. Fix. I remember my dad used to talk about him. People used to spend their lunch breaks trying to figure out what landfill Powers dug the man out of.

ôFind him! This deal is too important to fall through.ö There it is, that crack in his mask. This whole affair must be getting to him.

Good, dregs like him deserve to squirm.

For a moment, I think about leaving, the suit jets arenÆt really meant for true flight, but from what I managed to pick up getting over here, they could get me up out of this pit and into the open city. Plenty of space to glide there, it wouldnÆt be hard to make it to a police substation.

But even with all this recorded evidence, the police couldnÆt do anything, not really. Powers has his fingers in everything in this city.

If anythingÆs going to stop this, itÆs me.

I wait, secure in the shadows, until the last canisters are nearly loaded. Everything seems to slow, like the whole world is waiting.

And in my dream, I do it right.

The disk launcher on my wrist can punch the razor edged bit of composite an inch deep into hardened duralloy. When one of them hitÆs Powers head, it doesnÆt so much cut as it crunches his face in and burst the back of his skull like a water balloon.

IÆm already moving. EveryoneÆs rushing to try and help Powers; they donÆt even notice as I seal the door of the hovercraft behind me. The old manÆs screaming in my ear again, threatening to kill the suit, but he wonÆt. He knows I have to take this stuff somewhere it wonÆt ever be used. I donÆt have to wait long for him to calm down. Whatever I might dislike about the old man, he knows when to shut up and move on, unlike most old folks.

ôHow do I destroy to gas, Old Man?ö

ôIf you can get it into the ocean, the water should neutralize it.ö He pauses. ôMcGinnisàweÆre going to have a long talk when you get back.ö

ôYeah, we are.ö We both go silent while I set to work. IÆve never actually driven one of these things, hell; I havenÆt even driven a hovercar. But the computer interface looks standard enough, and I manage to get it up and moving on a basic autopilot for the ocean.

I sit back in the crash couch and wait, even if this is supposed to neutralize it, I want this stuff as far away from the city as I can get it before I mess around.

But all of thatÆs in my dreams. And in the end, I have to wake up to reality. The sunlight in my window, we live far enough up in the cloudcutter that real sunlight still reaches us, is filtered through a tree outside, part of some beauty project they had going when I was a boy. ItÆs green, every morning when I wake up, itÆs green.

I open the window. Outside, Gotham keeps going as it always does, I can smell the rank scent of garbage, ozone, and too many people all crammed together. Sirens, overloud music, ad boards constantly repeating slogans and the combined sound of thousands of people hang in the air. I look at my arms on the windowsill. They still look green from the tree filtered light.

I hate that color. It reminds me of my mistakes.

I take one last look at the city. HeÆs out there, in some penthouse apartment. I donÆt know how he manages to keep up the fiction, but he does.

IÆm going to kill you, I think as I close the window and grab my towel and soap, Blight.

O0O

 

[trevelyan1983]

Awesome work, Ina - I particularly like your take on Blight. He always struck me as something of a twisted inverse of Bruce, which makes him an interesting opponent for Terry. Well, in addition to the 'you-made-me-what-I-am' ties that bind them.

And the excellent voice acting doesn't hurt.

"You killed my father!"

"Have you any idea how little that narrows it down?"

:rofl:

 

[Ina_meishou]

I brush some dust off WillyÆs shirt and say something supportive, but my real attentionÆs still on Nelsons car as it squeals out off the lot.

A lot of the time, I wish Batman could do some clean up on the bullies and assholes. Of course, aside from breaking my cover, it would cause problems. The Police are already after me in their usual, lazy way.

Still, it irks me that for all I do out there at night, dregs like Nelson still walk all over everyone.

ôHey, Ter. WhatÆs up?ö

I give Willie a nod and turn towards the school, DanaÆs stepping out the door. Apparently sheÆs speaking to me again, though from the tone of her voice, she hasnÆt forgotten the last date I canceled.

ôNot muchö I say, ôNelsonÆs just picking on Willy again.ö

ôHmph, that creep. I donÆt know what Blade sees in him.ö ItÆs nice to hear her angry with someone else for a change.

ôEasy enough,ö I say, ôA shway ride, well-off folks, and not enough brains to say no.ö

She gives me that look.

ôWell, when you put it that way, I might have to make a move myself.ö

ôNot a chance.ö I say, I try reaching an arm around her and she doesnÆt pull away. ôBesides, I got something heÆll never have.ö

ôOh,ö she says, pressing herself into my side, ôwhatÆs that?ö

I lean in for a kiss, but she turns her head. I grin.

ôI can take no for an answer.ö I say.

She makes a face and I laugh.

ôYou have a point, Ter.ö

ôSo, Dance on Friday, at the pier?ö I ask.

She looks at me.

ôPromise youÆll show up this time?ö She asks. I nod. ôSure.ö

She pushes up on her toes and gives me a peck on the cheek , then walks off towards the lift for student parking.

ôLater Ter!ö she calls, ôJackie and I are heading to the mall.ö

ôRight.ö

I watch her until the doors close, then head towards the PubTrans station. ItÆs time for work.

Now I just have to make sure the old man lets me have Friday night off. I sigh.

Great plan, I think. Next lets figure out how to ace physics.

Yeah, thatÆll be the day.


O0O

The boss said I could take the night off. ItÆs quiet for now, and itÆs only been a week since that Inque bitch rampaged though the cave. IÆm still not feeling well.

Not a big surprise, she tasted like shit, who knows where sheÆs been.

The caveÆs mostly fixed up; though having to do all the work myself isnÆt helping. Still, itÆs an interesting break from getting beaten black and blue every night. Looking at all the shit laying around here, it makes me realize just how amazing the Old Man was back in his prime. Half these guyÆs I donÆt think I could take now, and thatÆs with the super-suit.

*Query Denied: Err: 42235 InsDatSrch*

Damn, thatÆs the third time thatÆs flashed across the screen in the last hour alone. When I told the old man to tell me everything, he actually grinned, which looked wrong. Then he pointed at the computer and told me to find out for myself.

ThatÆs been harder than I expected. The thingÆs archaic, it takes half a minute just to scan its own drives, much less get anything more than a few gigs from the net. And the user interface reminds me of some of those old movies dad used to like. Finding anything on the system is nearly impossible, much less finding what you want.

On the other hand, my grades in HistTech are probably going to go up.

I try again. IÆm looking for stuff towards the end of the old mans career. Somewhere on this relic is the reason Wayne quit. If I can find that, maybe I can actually figure out what makes him tick.

ItÆd be nice to even the odds, doubt itÆll happen though.

Hell, for all I know, he deleted any record of whatever it was, or at least kept it elsewhere, somewhere offline.

It sounds like something heÆd do.

*Found: Profile: JOKER*

Hey, this is good. The JokerÆs been a myth in this city since before I was born. There must be a hundred club tales about what happened to him. I bet the truth is somewhere on here.

I scan through the file, itÆs big, a lot bigger than the official one I found on the net a year or so back. And a lot of the stuff in here looks like something out of some bad horror film.

You know, the kind that isnÆt scary at all, æcause you think itÆs impossible for anyone to really be that horrible.

I might have to avoid those for awhile.

A few bits seem interesting rather than just disgusting, and I copy them to a disc to look through later. Unfortunately, the file ends without any real detail. ThereÆs just a single line.

*Joker deceased, Harleen Quinzel in Intensive Care (Recovered)*

ThereÆs a date too, early 21st century.

I wonder just how old the old man is. Probably got covered in history class, but thatÆs Terry time.

Wait. I wonder what he has on here about himself.

I put in the commands, cross my fingers, and hit the execute key.

ôI wouldnÆt bother.ö

Fuck! I spin around; last I knew he was eating dinner up in the mansion, how the fuck did he get so close without me noticing. I mean, he walks with a cane for godÆs sake.

ôSorry, Iàö I feel like a kid. It reminds me of when mom and dad were still together, mom used to make cookies, and she always seemed to know just when I was going to try and sneak one.

IÆd hoped I was done with that feeling.

ôForget it,ö he says, just as blunt as always, ôI donÆt keep anything on myself on there anyway.ö He taps the side of his head. ôAll the important bits are right here.ö

I give him a look. ôFigures.ö

I turn back to the screen.

*SrchCmp: #Doc: 0*

ôI you want information on me. YouÆll have to do it the old fashioned way.ö He says. Somehow he got right next to the chair while I was busy reading an eighth of a line of text.

ItÆs just not natural.

I gesture at the computer. ôThis isnÆt old fashioned?ö I ask.

He grins again, and it still doesnÆt look right. ôYou should pay more attention in history class McGinnisö

I get up, itÆs obvious he wants to use the computer, and I have other things to do. Maybe Danna had to cancel her night out with the Jackie and needs some company. I shove the disc in my bag and head up the stairs. ItÆs gonna be a long walk to the closest PubTrans station.

Fuck it. Instead of the front door, I head for the garage. The bike I grabbed from those Jokerz last month isnÆt a bad piece of work, and with all the nice toys the old man has laying around like trash, itÆll be even better.

O0O

I finish forcing the housing back on and throw the wrench at the floor. Not too hard, but enough that I feel a little better. Electronics I know, recent ones anyway, but this mechanical shit just pisses me off.

I sit back against the wall and just stare at the bike. ItÆs a good one, a little old, but whoever the joker who owned this was, he kept it in good shape.

It reminds me a lot of the first bike I rode, years ago. Big Time had this idea that if we could get some wheels, weÆd be able to score more creds, so we smashed a bike shop and rolled out.

It didnÆt last long of course; new bikes are all tagged, just like cars. We were just breaking open the beers to celebrate when the cops showed up. Big Time took the hit, said heÆd talked us all into it. He was like that, always tried to do right by the Boyz.

I shake my head. Sometimes, the days when I ran with the Boyz seem like the best days of my life, then I remember that these days my job is to put kids like that down.

Makes me wish Batman only dealt with the big criminals, but so much of what people suffer comes form the little shits like the Jokerz and the TÆs. I donÆt have it in me to ignore the all the J-ManÆs and their ilk just for the few who remind me of me.

I climb to my feet and head for the room the old man told me I could use. IÆm covered in grease and sweat; I need a shower before I head home.

The hot water feels nice, I spend a bit more time that I really need under the spray, but itÆs not like the old man needs to watch his water bill.

When I step into the lounge on my way to the garage and my bike, heÆs waiting for me, and thereÆs a folder on the table.

ôYou have ten minutes.ö He says.

I grab the file and drop into a chair to skim through it. Later, IÆll read and memorize the whole thing, but in the ten minutes I have, IÆll be lucky to get the basic background and a few habits straight in my head.

This is the third new Ident heÆs made for me, and from the looks of it, itÆs gonna be the hardest yet to get down.

O0O

ôSokka, itÆs good to see you. How has your father been?ö

I shake his hand and walk with him towards the chairs in front of the old fireplace. I sit without being asked, Sokka has almost as little patience for formality as I do, which makes it easier to play him.

ôHeÆs great.ö I say. I turn and drape one leg over the arm of the chair. ôKatara still wonÆt speak with him though, not since he started talks with the Red Bears.ö

He smiles, and it looks as if heÆs really remembering how temperamental a young girl is. ôShe always was independent.ö He says. ôPerhapsàö he trails off.

ItÆs one of his more obvious hints, and I mentally thank him as I try to look serious. ôYou know he canÆt. Unmarried women donÆt leave the Tribe.ö

ItÆs a struggle not to laugh. I feel ridiculous acting like some pole tribe noble. The old man takes it in stride though, nodding easily, like itÆs something heÆs heard before. I wonder how often heÆs sat in front of a real tribal prince. At least once, to know anything about it, probably more, given he has the connections to have this fictional character put in their records.

He brings up the subject of society in Gotham, and I try to ease into the character of the stranger I just read from paper. Some things I have to fake. Sokka has two braids to the side of his face that I have to mime pulling every once and awhile; itÆs a nervous habit common in the tribes. And once I slip and display knowledge of something Sokka wouldnÆt know. But for the most part, I do alright.

Tomorrow, the old manÆll cut apart my performance, but I learned the hard way that if I pay too much attention to it, it falls apart. It has to be easy, natural.

This is the first identity that isnÆt a Gotham native, and the customs and general knowledge are giving me fits, what he hell do Polars talk about anyway, other than fish and bears and penguins? But the personality is close enough to mine, and the status means that if I ever have to actually use this identity, I can get away with sassing the kind of people who could see me behind bars for it here.

Shway.

ItÆs about an hour of awkward conversation before he breaks character and tells me to go home. Which means IÆll still show up long before anyone expects me.

Might even have time to get some homework done, if I bother.

Right, like that'll happen.

O0O

Edited, both for order and some wording/content. Thoughts?

 

[Ina_meishou]

I shove the throttles forwards to their stops. The old man grumbles something over the radio, but the way my blood sings as the city blurs outside the windows and inertia slams me back into the seat more than makes up for whatever lecture heÆll hand me when I get back. Even if it is older than I am, this car still puts anything IÆve ever ridden in to shame.

ôI donÆt pay you to have fun McGinnis.ö He sounds almost amused.

Scary.

I pull back to a less dangerous speed and switch on the radio. Chatter from hundreds of police cars fills the cockpit before a sorting algorithm kicks in and most go quiet. The Gotham Urban Territory is big, even ignoring the vertical space, and has law enforcement to scale. Not that the suits do much a lot of the time. Mostly just cleaning up the mess.

Before the computer can pick something major out of the babble, I notice something on a big terrace out of the corner of my eye. I shut down the radio and turn around. Sure enough, thereÆs some sort of GOLEM type load lifter smashing its way across a parking balcony. A few buttons tells the car to hold position and I pull the release bars, letting the seat slide out from under me before dropping into the night.

A thought, picked up by the suit, and the cloth bunched at the shoulders folds out and turns rigid. My fall turns into a long glide, body straight, arms out, wind rushing into my face.

I canÆt feel it though, after the incident with Inque, the old man changed the cowl, covered up the mouth.

No more unwelcome intruders.

IÆm about at the level of the Lifters sensor suite now, and it finally notices me. The first two disks I send at the lens miss. For all that its moves looks slow, the three story size of the thing means it gets about pretty quick. I fold the wings and drop as it takes a swing at me with one of its arms. Nearly takes the ears off my cowl.

A short burn form the jets and the bracing from the nanocloth that lines the suit keep me from smashing my legs apart when I land. Unfortunately, the second I stand the lifters leg smacks me back off my feet.

It also sends me to the other side of the lot, and I can tell that even the suit didnÆt save me from a nasty bruise this time.

I pick myself out of the car that stopped my flight and notice a girl standing right next to me. Blade Summers, small world. The lifters coming my way again, and Blade doesnÆt look like sheÆll be moving any time soon.

Damn bystander.

I grab her and jump over the side of the terrace. . The wings let me land safely in a courtyard three levels down, and I dump the girl on a bench and use the jets to boost myself back up to the fight.

WhoeverÆs controlling this thing is having a grand old time. Most of the cars are slagged, and the front of the mall isnÆt looking much better.

At least the rest of the people had the sense to run.

ôAim for the joints. Use explosives.ö The old man sounds a bit annoyed, probably been waiting for me to think of it myself.

Bastard forgets IÆm new at this.

ôThanksö I say. IÆd like to drop some sort of witty one-liner, but it turns out those or a lot harder to think of on the spot than the trids make out. Besides, IÆm a bit busy running around the parking lot, trying to get close enough to use the explosive disks. They donÆt fly as well as the plain ones, and I still havenÆt quite gotten the hang of aiming them right.

Three minutes later, I start looking for a new strategy. The casing on the GOLEM is tough, and the microbombs donÆt seem to be doing much. The first police units are just now starting to show up, not that theyÆre good for much. I have a feeling blasters will be about as useful as spitballs against this thing. I need to think of something different.

I come out a roll and my eyes catch on the power line for the turbolift running up the side of the mall.

ThatÆll do.

One rocket powered jump later and IÆm digging my claws into the lift shaft. IÆm as close to the power line as I can bring myself to get, and if the under layer of the suit wasnÆt perfectly skintight, every hair on my body would be standing tall.

WhoeverÆs at the other end of the lifterÆs controls isnÆt too bright, or theyÆre just pissed beyond reason. Either way, the punch comes so fast I barely manage to dodge. With whatÆs left of a fountain spread across the terrace, the guy who started this mess is in for one hell of a feedback shock.

Good

The cops are all over the place now that itÆs over. I trip the cloaking unit and glide out, a few buildings over and maybe ten levels down should be far enough to call the car without drawing a crowd.

ôYou want me to come in and figure out where that thing came from?ö I ask. ItÆs not likely, but my ribs are killing me. IÆll take any excuse to avoid moving too much right now.

ôDonÆt bother.ö The old man says. öI can still type.ö

Ah, thereÆs that biter tone he gets sometime. Probably thinks IÆm trying to insult him.

If so, heÆs only right maybe half the time.

Okay, three quartersàon a bad day.

Anyway, it means IÆll be out here for hours yet, probably wont show up at home until I have to leave for school.

Just one of those damn nights.

O0O

ItÆs a good night, Wayne let me off with only a quick scan of the city and a few token appearances before he let me off so I could dance.

I was only half an hour late.

Dana looks like sheÆs having fun, itÆs been awhile since I managed to actually spend time with her.

She elbow me in the side, gently granted, but IÆm still sore form getting kicked by that golem.

ôWhatÆs wrong sadface?ö I can barely hear her over the music and the crowd.

ôMissed this!ö I say, about three times as loud as I normally would. She smiles a bit, which is better than hitting me again.

Then she pulls me into a hug, which is probably worse.

At least she canÆt see my face right now, sheÆd think I was mocking her.

I hold her back and try to sway to the music, luckily, it slows down about then.

Convenient.

She eases up and we dance for a bit. ItÆs nice having her in my arms again.

It doesnÆt last.

Someone bumps into my back, nearly knocks be over. When I turn to give him a shove I see itÆs Willy, soaking wet and looking murderous.

Oh hellà

ôWilly? What happened manàö I reach for his shoulder, I really donÆt want him doing anything stupid.

ôShut up McGuinessö he snaps, before I have a chance to grab him he spots someone though the crowd and bolts.

I follow, DanaÆs right behind me, even she canÆt get angry about this.

By the time I catch sight of him again, itÆs all over, NelsonÆs on the ground and willyÆs staddling his chest, flailing away at whatÆs left of the larger boyÆs face.

I spend a few seconds admiring Nelson getting whatÆs coming before Danna elbows me again, harder this time.

ôTerry, do something!ö she sounds a bit frantic.

ôCanÆt I just watch?ö She glares at me and I go over and haul Willy off nelsons body. HeÆs run out of steam now, just hanging limply and crying.

I take a last look at Nelson, his face is so smashed I cant even tell whatÆs what, but his chest is still moving, and I hear a quiet groan.

I haul Willy over to a bench, the crowds parting in front of us.

Nobody wants to get close.

I try to talk to him, but he doesnÆt look up, just sits there, slumped forward, sobbing.

Ten minutes later, the cops arrive, late as always, along with an ambulance.

Willy doesnÆt look up as they shove him into the back of a car and lift off.

The party gets back in swing around me, the music never stopped, with almost 10,000 teens on the pier for this event, only a fraction even noticed anything was wrong.

IÆm not in the mood.

Dana tries to pull me back into a dance, a fast one this time, but I shake her off.

Her jaw tenses, sheÆs ton up, confused, and I can tell she just wants to try and ignore what just went down.

I canÆt join her, and she probably wouldnÆt listen if I tried to explain.

I shrug, and walk away.

We can make up later, in another week or two.

Right now, I just want to find some dreg and smash him.

O0O

 

[da_fox2279]

Hmmm.... I like this. It's a nice bit of work.

 

[wingthesword]

Awesome, there's not much Batman Beyond fics out there.

 

[Ina_meishou]

Previous post edited and expanded.

 

[Ina_meishou]

Thatàdid not work out how I thought it wouldà

What I wanted was to find a criminal, maybe that idiot J-Man or one of his toadies, and pound the tar out of them.

What I got, was these twin freaks giggling and cart wheeling around me.

ôMcGinnis, what, exactly, is going on.ö

I wince. The old man went for a toilet break just before these two showed up, and now IÆm well and truly fucked.

ôIÆve been captured.ö I say, I guess thatÆs pretty obvious, but I figure itÆs best to make sure.

Plus, it keeps me from having to go into the details just yet.

HeÆs not amused.

ôExplain.ö

I sigh.

ôI was angry.ö I stop again. HeÆs going to get the whole story, but damned if IÆm going to make it easy.

ôI could tell.ö He says, as if I didnÆt know that already. ôWhat IÆm more interested in,ö he goes on, ôis why youÆre standing in line at a cinema.ö

Oh. I wasnÆt expecting him to skip over my complete failure.

Maybe heÆs playing with me, making me feel at ease before he starts with the acid.

Or maybe not.

And once again I am back to square one in the ongoing quest ôFigure out the Old Bastardö.

IÆm also completely unprepared for the rest of this conversation.

ôIÆm waiting.ö

Yeah, thereÆs the ôstop stalling and tell me what I want to know before I drop you off a buildingö tone.

It would help if I actually had a solid answer for him, but to be honest, IÆd be interested to know myself.

ôTheyÆre nuts?ö I offer. It seems a safe enough assumption, these girls look about five levels above, or below, depending on how you care to look at it, the ordinary Jokerz as far as nuts goes.

This whole conversation is happening in the suit; I set it to cancel my voice for anything but the radio. The girls, blond twins showing entirely too much skin for my sanity, are doing a commendable job of hiding the fact that I am in fact Batman, being marched along with my hands tied behind me.

When I figure out who sold them this damn filament, IÆm going to end the bastard. ItÆs dulled two blades so far, and the suit canÆt rip it. Has to be some sort of restricted polyblend, definitely illegal.

The twins wonÆt tell me, I already asked.

One of them, they donÆt seem to have names, or if they do theyÆre smart enough not to use them with the paint on, is pressed up against my back, which deals with their problem of hiding my hands, but leaves me with the problem of people wondering why my hands are down there.

At least the number of people calling ônice batman costumeö means this wonÆt be a headline.

I hope.

The other spends part of her time leading me through the line like a dog, and the rest hanging off me in various poses that have me half convinced she has no bones.

The crotch plate is beginning to feel a bit tight.

It takes another five minutes to work our way to the front of the line, and more time than it should for the twins to buy tickets to a trid, half because they keep arguing about what to see, and half because the attendant is spending more time staring at me, or at the twins as they wrap around me, than he is punching commands into his screen.

Eventually, they lead me into the building with three tickets for ôPaladinö. ItÆs about a kid who gets strange powers in a freak accident and becomes a vigilante.

The irony is thick tonight.

I almost feel like weeping with relief as they settle me in a seat at the rear of the amphitheater. At least most of the audience will be focusing on the trid rather than me.

ôAnd you say I never let you have a night off,ö the old man says over the com, ôEnjoy your date.ö

He wouldnÆt. HeÆs way too straitlaced to leave me hanging out here. He couldnÆt possiblyà

ThereÆs a click, and an indicator pops up to show that the link to the batcave has been killed.

He didà

God Damnit!

The trid is horrible, and the poor kid gets a costume that looks like something from the middle ages.

At least, thatÆs what I managed to take from the 10 minutes or so I saw. The rest of it was overlaid by the sensation of whatever restraint the twins had snapping.

O0O

I wake up feeling horrible. Part of thatÆs probably my ribs; part of itÆs probably from sleeping curled into a ball.

Most of itÆs probably from the burning jolt of electricity that woke me up.

öWake up McGinnis.ö

Well, the Bastard is in fine form today. Not that I can blame him, after last night, I feel like tearing myself a new one.

ôHey boss.ö

Of course, I canÆt let the Old Man know that, then IÆd never get that damn knowing grin off his face.

ôI told your school I had you doing something important for me today,ö he says.

ôIÆm touched Old Man.ö He sounded like he was about to say something else, but IÆd rather hear a lecture about my mouth than about my ôdateö.

ôNice try McGinnis,ö he goes on, barely missing a beat, ôI found out who youÆre escorts last night were.ö

Well thatÆs something at least. I canÆt do much with the information, thereÆs still that nice shiny police memo sitting on the Batcom about how ôall efforts are to be made to find and stop the masked vigilante known as Batmanö.

Ungrateful bastards, all of them.

ItÆs still nice to know, and maybe now I can put some names to the faces from the recording I got.

One good thing about the suit, well, among a lot of good things, is that anything I see, I can record. Normally, the old man gets final say in what gets deleted and what gets saved, but adding a datastick to the rec line was simple enough, and I did it weeks ago.

I have to download and wipe it every few days, but I now have some schway ôstupid criminalö videos on my com. My night with the twins might be humiliating, but it should make for some great material.

ôàthe other side of Gotham. You might want to get moving if you want to make it home today.ö

Shit. The old manÆs been talking and I havenÆt been paying attention. ThatÆs probably going to bite me in the ass later. ItÆs like he knows, every time I stop listening, even over the radio.

Creepy fuck.

When the Batmobile, and christ the old man has a serious bat fixation, or he did when he named all this shit, floats down outside, itÆs already after noon. IÆm only on the twelfth level, and I can actually see the ground if I look down. If I look up, the Cloudcutters around me block out most of the view, soaring up and up and up until they cut through the thick smog layer. There are a few lines of hovercar traffic, but not so many this low. Most people who live down here canÆt afford grav-drives.

CanÆt afford to see the sun either, poor bastards.

I set the thing to take me back to the cave on autopilot, I need more sleep.

O0O

In the end, I wind up with nothing more than a minor ass chewing and a night off. It's less a reward and more a matter of Wayne not trusting me to handle the suit when I'm still fucked up from last night.

He also mentioned sending me to some sort of fighting class, something about my left side being weak.

Normally, I'd spend my night off hanging with Dana, or sleeping, or doing homework...

Okay, that last one's a lie, gimme a break.

Anyway, even with last night's fiasco, I got enough sleep today to rule out that option, and Dana only answered my call to hiss some impressive insults and tell me we're through before hanging up, so I'm at lose ends. Just cruising the streets, not even speeding.

I'm not in the mood to rile the pigs.

Usually, I head down when I'm feeling glum. The lower-mid-levels are a good place to spend some creds and forget your problems for a few hours. But tonight, I'm feeling a different urge.

I head up.

Around the four forties, I hit that weird, tingling sensation of the Baffle, its sort of like driving through very light syrup, not enough to really throw you, but noticeable.

The wealthy snobs who live up here love the view, they don't like the smog or the light pollution from us deadbeats spoiling their million credit vistas. It's like a lighter smog layer, a field trapping emissions and blocking light penetration from coming up. There's another one much lower down, on the real smog layer, though that one's more like a constant pea soup fog, as opposed to this light mist.

The field fades out at about four eighty, and I drive out of the mist and into a fairly narrow ravine between two towers. Thirty stories later, I hit the real treat.

The tower tops are sculpted landscapes, recreations of rolling hills and valleys and forests. The illusion isn't perfect of course, there's not nearly enough room for that, but it's still impressive. And spreading out to the horizon in all directions are more towers, thick and thin and artistic and blocky, a lot of them similarly sculpted and blooming.

And then I look up, and there are the stars.

You can occasionally see the sky in the upper-mid-levels, where mom lives, when the baffle and the weather and a thousand other factors are all just right, and the sun is strong enough to penetrate most of the time.

But the stars aren't, this is a view you can only see from up here.

I find a loop road running around the perimeter of the twin tower tops and cruise. My clothes don't really blend in, but thanks to the old man's generous paychecks they shouldn't be so out of place that I draw the attention of the pri-sec goons rooftop communities like this tend to hire.

I'm halfway through my second loop when some flashing lights catch my eye. It's on another tower cluster, this one a bit more developed, with a few small towers jutting out of the landscaping. It looks like a club, if I strain my ears, I can hear what might be music.

I take one last look at the stars, then cut for a bridge that connects to the towers.

I guess I could stand some revelry after all.

O0O

This is really turning into the most fun I've had since I got this job. Maybe I should get tormented by crazy bad guy chicks more often.

On second thought...no.

But still, the scene is pretty nice here. Music is decent, if a bit more preppy than I usually like, the drinks are reasonably priced, and the servers didn't do more than wink and nod at my Ident-card before they started serving.

And the girls are clean and mostly pretty, stunning even, the families up being the sort that have more than enough to spring for prenatal gene-treatments.

Of course, none of them are interested in someone like me. Clothes that on my level make me look rather successful and well off wind up making me look like a ragamuffin among a crowd of artfully faux-deadbeat deconstructions. Even the girls turning tricks avoid me for better prospects.

Nice to look at though.

Someone taps on my shoulder.

I'm halfway towards getting up to confront whoever it is, balls for brains rich kid trying to score points with some chick maybe, before I realize that it is a girl. Blond, cyan eyes, leggy, slim, shirt and miniskirt painted on.

Niiiiice.

ôHey,ö she says, ôuse some company?ö

I know instantly that I've been spending way too much time with the old man, because the first thing that crosses my mind is 'this is far too convenient'.

I swear that nut is out to ruin me.

ôSure,ö I kick a chair out from beneath the table, ôlove some.ö

She smiles, the lights gleaming on glossy black lips, and oozes down into the chair. It takes maybe two seconds before a server shows up, takes her order, and vanishes.

ôSo, you have a name?ö

I smile, and offer a hand, ôTerryö.

ôMelanieö her hand is smooth, but solid, like she actually uses it.

ôSo,ö she asks once her drink is in hand, ôwhat's a man like you doing in a place like this?ö

It's so, very, damn, hard not to laugh right now. Where did this girl learn to talk, movies?

Well, another look shows she just might have. Clothes aren't right, the getup is right out of some middle class high-school drama trid. Sexy girl next door.

Closeted princess sneaks down to slum it with the mere millionaires kids, and runs into me...

Priceless.

O0O

Alright, so the old man is right about my detective skills, Holmes I am not.

As it turns out, the girl is new in town, nervous about the under levels, and trolling for unattached people. Terminally shy type I guess. I just happened to be the first person she saw in the bar who lacked an entourage.

Ringing endorsement, huh.

Still, she was pretty cool, and I got a number and a kiss out of the evening. Not a bad night, all in all.

It was, in fact, fun enough that I forgot my goal of not causing trouble, and blasted past a pri-sec goon unit at about twice the posted limit. It's apparently a slow night for these fucks, since no less than five cars are now tailing me.

Don't these assholes have high profile robberies to thwart or something?

It's almost nostalgic really. I don't think I've had this much excitement outside the suit since that night Wayne and I smacked J-Man's group up. They've been following for awhile now, and we're just about at the drop I'me aiming for. None of the cars chasing me is a floater, and I'm willing to bet none of the drivers are crazy enough to follow me through what's about to happen.

This part of the baffle is particularly dense tonight, and I almost miss the sign that marks the starting point for this highly illegal run, a sharp turn off the elevated road, and I'm flying.

Falling really, of course, but it's only fifteen feet down and twenty feet out to another loop of road, and the lip gives me a good kick into the air.

I pull up and take a look behind me, a half dozen pri-sec officers are climbing out of their cars, most of them making rude gestures, and I hear at least three rather insulting things about mom.

I give em the finger and drive off. Tonight, was a good night.